Whenever I'm feeling upset, I remind myself repeatedly that, no matter what I'm crying over, I went through worse when I lost you. Typically that is enough to help me snap out of my funk, but of course there are those times where the only remedy seems to be a box of tissues and my comfiest PJs.
And that was exactly the kind of day I had last Friday.
I've been so focused on getting my new, single, fabulous little life figured out during these past few months, and in an instant I realized that I have absolutely no clue why I am where I am, doing what I'm doing, and feeling how I'm feeling. The only thing I wanted to do was curl up on the couch next to you while you played with my hair like you did when I was little, and knowing that the one thing I wanted was also the one thing that definitely wasn't going to happen only added to my heavy heart that day.
I've been sick for about a week (how is it that my body fights viruses like a champ during Maine winters, but can't handle a few months of 90+ degree weather?), so that didn't help my mood. I was at work for less than 30 minutes when I decided there was no way I could make it through the day in one piece and needed to get out of there immediately. One look at my manager-- who is just as caring and approachable as you... AND shares your name, ironically-- and I was one hot mess. I told her how much I just miss your advice and how much I wish I could hear it now. She suggested that I write you a letter, read it out loud, and wait for the answers to eventually show themselves to me. Little did she know that writing letters used to be our thing, and, through my blog, still is. It was just what I needed to hear.
I got in my car and drove 2.5 hours to the cemetery. I know that technically you aren't there, but for some reason I found comfort in sitting beside where your body is resting. While I was there, I finally allowed myself to let it all go. I am so confused. Why am I living in the area that I am right now? I came here for college, that is over. I stayed for a relationship, and that is over too. My closest friends have all moved away and have started their lives; why haven't I done the same? What am I waiting for? My job here isn't my dream job, and frankly the only reason I look forward to going in is because my co-workers are so great, but is that enough to keep me here? Not in the least.
I had a long talk with Dad that night and have decided that I'm moving home. I'm giving myself the next month to figure out the logistics of this next step. I'll have to look for a new job, find someone to lease my apartment, etc. I feel relief knowing that I am finally closing this chapter in my life and moving forward, but at the same time, I'm wondering how I will adjust to life in that area after being on my own for five years. How will it feel to live, for the first time, in the house you died in? How will it feel to wake up every morning in the home we spent 19 wonderful years in together and walk downstairs and not see your smile? I'm nervous for it, but ready somehow. It is time. And at the end of the day, I know I'll be alright because I went through worse when I lost you.